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She needs a sexy, lean/slim/slender or truly HWP friend. Her loving Daddy approves.
'Sooner murder an infant in it's cradle than nurse unacted desires.' -Wm Blake
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One thing's for certain: lifestyle profiles tend to be of little more than prophylactic value. -Your's Truly
Slaves, obey your human masters with fear and trembling, in the sincerity of your heart. (Ephesians 6:5)
Slaves are to be submissive to their masters in everything, and to be well-pleasing, not talking back. (Titus 2:9)
Slaves, submit yourselves to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the cruel. (1 Peter 2:18)
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So much for 'alternatives.' Lifestylers tend to act as if history began with their grandparents - if they happened to know them. Obviously, to opt for an 'alternative lifestyle' one must first have a life (and hopefully) embellish it with some style. Good taste never goes out of style.
'There's nothing like desire to prevent the things one says from having any resemblance to the things in one's mind.' -Marcel Proust
To be honest, I can't even begin to stomach Proust's gamey uncertainty in anything but exceedingly small doses. That may be due to his blatant homosexuality. I have nothing against that - except that his was in exceedingly poor taste. On the other hand, a very small handfull of his quotes are exceptionally quoteworthy. One more thing that makes him thoroughly modern: he thinks in snippets and writes reams. Ding-dongs do that, and not the other way around. I haven't been able to bring myself to read more than two pages without cringing, unable to exponge from consciousness the 'pompous celebate' in Five Easy Pieces - a female version of Proust (it's confusing) or vice versa. For someone so fond of psuedo R/romantic writing, one can't help but wonder if he even knew the meaning of the word 'romance.' Probably not. Frequently called the 'Greatest novelist of the 20th Century.' Does that say something of novelists, or the last millenium? Or rather, something about the late 20th Century mentality en plein? Proust never even finished a legitimate book before he died. I'd call him an ersatz novelist. If he could scribble ten thousand paragraphs but never fully complete his one and only book, cover-to-cover, then WTF?
You'd almost think I was making this up.
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